Illustrations and Words
by iwishtobenoone
Summary: It's was past midnight. It was at the local cafe. It was the meeting of an inspiration-blocked novelist and an aspiring artist leaving her hometown for a school in the city. It was a coincidence. It was fate. It was not the best beginning, but one nevertheless.
1. Chapter 1

He checks the clock. 11:59. He glances down at a sheet of paper scrawled with more crossed out lines than words- and the words aren't even adequate. They're strung together awkwardly, falling over each other to vie for the spots of "lamest," "most cliché," and "just stupid in general."

He makes a sound like a strangled scream, crumples up the sheet and throws it in the direction of the wastebasket. It hits the rim and the contents, more wadded papers, spill out. He clenches his hands, fists trembling, and sighs, bitterness rushing out of him.

It's been more than a month. It's like he just _can't_ anymore. The tap won't turn, the inspiration won't flow. And the most frustrating part is that he can feel it, the underlying current, the pulse right under his fingertips. But he just can't get to it.

Believe him, he's tried. He tried to write. Tried to do all the things that normally pulled him out of the situation- listening to music, browsing the internet, just taking time, even resorted to his most desperate tactic: sleep deprivation- but when he actually puts his pen to the paper, the words come out apathetic, depressingly sluggish.

He checks the time again. 12: 01. He runs his hand through his spiky white hair and grabs his jacket, pulling it on in one swift movement. It's getting chillier, autumn settling in. In fact, school... he mentally curses. How could he forget? School's tomorrow- actually today since it was past twelve- and what was he doing? Staying up after twelve and going to the local cafe (he had forgotten about dinner). _Good job_, he thinks, _getting six hours of sleep before the day school starts_. _Ah, well, sleep deprivation was one way to stimulate his mind. _

He pushes the door of the cafe open, the warm yellow light spilling on the dark sidewalk. A bell fixed to the door tinkles softly.

"One mint hot chocolate and one of the cakes, please," he says.

"To stay or to go?"

"Stay."

He sits at a small circular table for two right next to the window. He keeps one hand on the green mug, gazing at the streetlights with his eyebrows furrowed slightly. The cake sits in front of him, barely poked at. The cafe is mostly empty, it being past midnight and all; it's nice. The stillness has a quality to it; like an ocean undisturbed, or maybe a sheet of ice. He can feel the dormant thoughts in his mind stirring slightly.

There's a soft ringing and he's jolted out of his reverie. He turns, surprised to find another person up at the time, and sees a girl. Her black hair is tied up in a bun high on her head. She wears a short, black trench coat and a peach-colored scarf tugged up to mouth.

"A hot chocolate with whipped cream to stay, please," she says, sounding slightly breathless.

He's already staring out the window again. He can feel the girl glance at him when she passes, choosing a comfy couch that's next to the window too. She sits farther away and sideways too, so he can only see her profile.

After that small disturbance, it's quiet again. He stops focusing on her, though he catches himself looking at her once in a while. _Just curiosity_, he reasons.

He ends up taking the cake home, sticking it in the fridge before heading to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes up five minutes before the alarm clock sounds. Lying in bed, he stares up at the shadow glazed ceiling for about a minute, then gets out of bed. He eats the cake from yesterday for breakfast, coupled with a glass of milk. And then he's out, dressed in the school uniform.

When he arrives at school, it's only 6:55. The front steps are empty so he just sits there, an hour and five minutes early. He takes out a notebook and tries to write, but the ghost of a plot escapes him again. He tries not to be too cross and takes out a novel instead.

Only half an hour has passed when someone else comes. Like the day before, he's surprised; no one else but him arrives to school more than thirty minutes early. And even more surprising is that she's the girl from the cafe. He has to take a second looks, her looking pretty different in an uniform, but he's sure she's the same girl. She has the same black hair tied in a bun, bangs framing her face sweetly. He doesn't know if she recognizes him, but all the same, she sits not far (but not close) from him, near the railings of the stairs.

He watches her take out a notebook- sketchpad he realizes later- and starts to draw. Then, as if realizing she was being watched, she stops and turns. She catches his eye and smiles. He looks back at her coolly and the smile fades a little. She goes back to sketching and he goes back to reading.

Eventually, students start to trickle in in small groups. Couples of two or three sit at the steps of the building, chatting loudly, reuniting with friends they haven't seen during the summertime. He recognizes most of them, but his icy demeanor, luckily, prevents anyone from getting too close. Most of the students had gone to the same middle school. And now that he thinks about it, he's never seen the girl from the cafe before.

"Hitsugayaaaaaa!" He barely has time to look up before arms constrict his neck and his face is buried in someone's chest. He manages to wriggle out of the embrace, almost toppling over and gasping for breath. A golden blond girl with blue eyes and a voluptuous body towers over him.

"I haven't seen you _all summer_! Well, now that you're a freshman, I'll see you everyday. Well, maybe not." She reconsiders. "You're going to be in the literature department. But the drama department does a lot of projects with them. I'm just so happy to see you! I think you might even have grown!"

"Hey Matsumoto, harassing freshmen already?" A group of five walk toward him. Four guys- one bald, one with orange hair, one with long red hair, and one that looked feminine- and a petite girl with shoulder length black hair.

"That's Ikkaku, Ichigo, Renji, Yumichika, and Rukia. The guys are in the music department; they're a band. Rukia's in my department. Ikkaku and Yumichika are a year above you, but the others are in your year. This is Toshiro Hitsugaya, literature."

Hitsugaya ignores them and starts to read his novel again. Matsumoto reaches over and yanks it out of his hands, holding it over her head where he can't reach.

"Matsumoto," he mutters darkly. "Give that back to me."

"Only if you stop reading." He reluctantly consents and shoves the novel into his satchel, figuring that it isn't worth it to cause a fuss at the front steps of the school.

Their group grows larger as more people arrive. Orihime, Tatsuki, Ishida, and Chad arrive in a group, all of them in the art department, except for Chad who is in music. Shuuhei and Kira arrive singularly, an artist and poet, completing their circle. Voices get louder and louder, their actions brasher and more reckless, until Hitsugaya finds himself wishing for school to start so he could get some peace. He glances at the girl, finding her still by herself, concentrating on sketching.

The school day is split in half, into morning classes and afternoon classes. The morning classes consist of five periods and are the classes that would be normally taken by regular students; english, math, science, history, and a language. Lunch is with all the grades and students are allowed to go outside to eat. Afternoon classes are the specialized ones. Each student, upon auditioning to get into the school, had to pick a department they would specialize in; art, music, literature, or drama. The afternoon would be similar to a single class, although extended. There's not really any teaching; the students do projects assigned to them on a weekly basis. It's more like an independent study where they could work by themselves, together, or even with other groups when different departments collaborate. Each department has a head, a teacher that oversees and grades all the student projects.

Thus, the synopsis of an almost-period long speech made by principal Yamamoto, his long white beard more transfixing than the words issued from his mouth, Hitsugaya thinks wryly, looking over to his left where Renji is asleep. They have just enough time remaining in the period to get to their first period class and meet the teacher. And so, the day marches on.

By the time lunch arrives, the students are anxious to start their afternoon classes. Excited words are exchanged in the speculation of the first project. The first project is always a collaboration between two departments, though with which one, no one knows.

Hitsugaya, of course, is unaffected and calmly buys his lunch. The girl- Hinamori Momo, which he learns since she's in all of his morning classes by some strange coincidence- stands right in front of him. She fumbles the coins while paying, nearly dropping a quarter which he catches. He hands her the quarter, and she blinks at him. Her face lights up in a smile.

"Thanks," she says. He looks away, embarrassed at her abundance of gratitude.

"It was no big deal." She walks away, wavering a little when debating where to sit, then deciding to sit at an empty table by herself. Hitsugaya stares at her and does a little debating too. He knows she's new now. She had come from her hometown in the suburbs. But he doesn't do these kinds of things normally. It's just not really in his nature.

So he walks to the rowdiest table, which is sadly where all his friends are sitting at. His food tastes of guilt and it's slightly harder to swallow. He glances over at her several times, still alone. She takes out her sketchbook after a while, which gives him small comfort but some nevertheless. At least she's doing something besides looking unbearably alone. Matsumoto catches him looking and winks at him. He scowls.

The literature head is Jushiro Ukitake, a man with long white hair tied in a ponytail. When Hitsugaya was called for attendance in English class, the Ukitake had smiled him, proclaiming him the other "Shiro" and laughing. Hitsugaya had glanced at him, somewhat perturbed the teacher was singling him out.

He now sits in a spacious classroom. The literature department had decided to partner with the art department for the first project. Ukitake and Byakuya stand at the front, waiting for all the students to arrive. The bell rings and the unlucky students that are a split second late are quickly reproached by Byakuya.

"As you know," Byakuya starts, speaking softly, albeit firmly. "The first project done in the afternoon session is a joint effort between two departments. The art and literature department has come together to help guide your first works to the environment of this high school. This year we have chosen the initial project to be a picture book."

"It's, of course, not just a picture book." Ukitake adds on, hearing the amused twitters in the room. "More accurately, it's a book with pictures. The writing must be of a high school level."

"And the pictures cannot be stick figures or inappropriate for a school setting." Byakuya's gaze flits to a student in the crowd and giggles break out. "You must work in a writer-artist pair of two and only two.

"The deadline is this Friday. You're allowed to work on this after school, but there is, and always will be, no plagiarism or any other foul behavior of any kind. On Friday, we will allow time to share and critique your fellow peers' works. Pairs will be chosen for the best art, best storyline, and best book overall."

"Any questions? No? Then get to work." Ukitake smiles benevolently and the classroom erupts into chatter. People immediately seek out their friends, talking excitedly about possible plot lines and characters.

"Hi," a soft voice says from behind Hitsugaya. He turns to see Hinamori smiling shyly. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Hinamori Momo, we met-"

"-at a cafe half past midnight." He finishes, no real emotion showing on his face. "I suppose you want to work together?" Hinamori beams. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

Five minutes later, the two of them are sitting across from each other, sharing a desk. Their heads are bent, voices low, trading witty lines and quotes, sentences and ideas, all in a rapid, almost covert, fashion. It's like his writer's block has lifted, the inspiration flowing freely as the girl across him replies with a skeptical question, a clever answer every time that leads him to think more and more. All of a sudden his mind is buzzing, moving with the accuracy and speed of a circus knife thrower. Possible symbols and themes are debated, character backstory and personality conceived, carefully placed faults and conflicts considered; the whole thing flows smoothly like air from a whistle.

Hitsugaya finds himself warming to Hinamori. Her infallible cheeriness and friendliness, her originality and ingenuity, her natural talent and charming art style makes her the perfect partner. She's serious enough for Hitsugaya to not be in a constant state of distress. But also laidback, allowing him to loosen up a bit. She's willing to laugh and make lame jokes. Even if he doesn't laugh, but sighs like he's exasperated, sometimes, he just can't help but smile a little. And her response is always a satisfied smile of her own.

The hours pass fast and Hitsugaya feels marginally dejected that he can't spend more time with her. But everything must have an end and so the day ends, Hinamori leaves with a smile and he watches her go, unsure of what to say.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days are mostly normal. Hitsugaya and Hinamori work diligently to finish the project. Nothing major goes awry and the two of them maintain their friendly-acquaintance relationship. Sometimes, their hands bump together when they pass objects between them, elbows brush, feet knock together, and in rare occasions, their heads lean so close their hair brush each others' face. But they just fix themselves up and go back to working, a quickly muttered apology and a meeting of glances, just shy and nothing else.

Hinamori is always in the front of him in the lunch line. He watches her sit alone during lunch everyday, the words _"do you want to sit with us?"_ stuck in his throat. But still, he isn't the kind of person who does those kinds of things. If she came over to sit, he doubts he would even talk to her much. He rarely talks to the others that sit at his table (unless, of course, Matsumoto threatens him). And still, he continues to steal glances at her.

"Why don't you ask her to sit with us?" Matsumoto asks curiously. "You look at her every few seconds. And we have room. Though Ikkaku's bald head might be too glaring."

"Oi, shut it." Ikkaku says, turning and glaring at her.

"Make me." She replies.

"Just shut up." Hitsugaya sighs.

"Invite her over!"

"Ooh, Hitsugaya _likes_ someone?" Ikkaku cackles.

"What Hitsugaya? Likes a girl?" Hisagi arches his eyebrows.

"It is a girl right?" Renji snickers.

"I really don't think Hitsugaya's _gay_."

"Well, he never says anything..."

"You can't just assume he's gay."

"Shut up," Hitsugaya shouts, eyebrow twitching. "Everyone just shut up. I am not _gay_, I don't want to invite anyone over, I am not in love. I just want everyone to be quiet!"

"Why don't you just invite her over?" Orihime breaks the silence meekly.

"Yeah, Hitsugaya." Matsumoto pipes up. "Why don't you just-?"

"Drop it, Matsumoto." They glare at each other for a few seconds. Matsumoto looks away first, sighing.

"You're always so cold, thinking that it's better to be alone. You're so closed up you don't even realize you have so much people around you."

"I don't need your therapy." He refuses to talk for the rest of the lunch period. She gives up and turns to the others.

"So, these are the character designs I've thought of for spring." Hinamori starts. "Just to be clear, we're making spring and summer female, and winter and autumn male?"

"Yeah." He replies distractedly.

"You didn't even look at it," He sighs and looks up, eyes skimming the page for a half second, then looking back down again. "Shiro!" He immediately looks up.

"Don't call me that." He glares at her.

"Well, I got your attention." She sticks out her tongue. "Now look."

"What are you? In elementary school? Who sticks out their tongue anymore?"

"You look like you could be in elementary school."

"Shut up, you're the kind of kid who probably wet their bed at night."

"Shiro!"

"Bed-wetter Momo!" There's a silence. She tries to look indignant, but puts a hand to her mouth, trying very hard to stifle giggles, though to no avail. She laughs and snorts so hard she starts to choke.

"Are you okay? What are you even laughing at?" He scowls at her. But she continues to laugh.

She wipes the tears from her eyes and takes a few breaths. She giggles shakily. "I was thinking how I finally make you mad. You're usually so closed in." He blinks at her, surprised. He doesn't know what to say. Matsumoto's words echo in his mind and he feels... like something's changed? Not really.

"Let me see those character designs." He sighs.

When school ends, he returns home. He does his homework, the house echoing his pencil scratching. The lamp throws dark clones on the paper, the mimics wiggling along in the yellow light. He can hear cars driving by on the highways, just background noise in the quiet atmosphere. He can feel the niggling of an idea lacing his trigonometry focused thoughts. Hinamori might help him in school, but once he's away from her, the feeling fades. He tries to hold on to it, but it always slips from him in the end. But she's definitely awoken that part of brain and he can feel the inspiration. It's coming, just not quite yet.

He finishes his work quickly and takes out his novel. The corner of the paper jacket is crinkled and he mentally curses at Matsumoto. His phone vibrates. What do you know? Glancing fleetingly at the screen, _Matsumoto_ it reads, he answers it, albeit reluctantly.

"What do you want."

"Is that anyway to greet your friend?"

"What do you want."

"I'm going to keep on calling you until I get a proper greeting."

"What? No, Matsumoto." The phone beeps, the call ending. A split second later it rings again.

"Stop it, I don't have time to waste." It beeps again, rings again.

"Matsumoto, I will kill you." Beeps, rings. He growls in frustration.

"Hey," He mutters.

"That's more like it." He can imagine her smiling triumphantly, her mouth quirked up in a smirk. "i called to ask you to come to my house."

"Why?"

"For the pah-tee! Why else? It's going to start in an half and hour and I want you to come and help me set up."

"I'm busy." He lies.

"With what?"

"Homework."

"Liar, you always finish before 5. I've known you for a while." He laughs humorlessly. "Come over alright?" He knows better than to say no, no doubt more calls and stupid messages.

"Fine."


End file.
